Suspended
by Lady Zarobiti
Summary: Sequel to 'A Chance at Redemption', MI6 is suspended, Alex has retired, and Tom is stuck in military training. What will people do to hide their dark and secret pasts? How is Alex coping? And oh yeah. Who will save the world now?
1. Innocent Rosetta

**Suspended**

**_Chapter One_**

* * *

a/n: Hey, all! It has been a long time since I finished 'A Chance for Redemption', but that was what I needed to find a killer plot. I hope you enjoy it! For the time being Miss Starbright and Alex are under the radar using fake names. To add to the quality of this fic, I will not use their real names.

Miss Chantelle Etoile (Starbright) sighed happily. She and Alex had escaped MI6 only two months ago, but Saskatchewan Canada was already starting to feel like home. Daniel Etoile (Alex) had been helping her learn French and even mastered the dialect and accent used by the people in their area. Daniel had just been registered in the nearby Catholic School and the semester would start next week. Why a Catholic School, you ask? Well think of it this way: who would actually look for a teenage super spy among the nuns and lazy children?  
Chantelle and Daniel may seem like they were a totally normal family on the outside, but they still had rough spots. Daniel still continued training his senses and martial arts, just in case. Chantelle still read the Evening Standard online and found Elle fashion magazines hidden away in the back of the local library. It was while she was looking through the most recent issue of The Sun newspaper that she saw an editorial about MI6. Guiltily checking that Alex- Daniel wasn't in sight, Jack- Chantelle- opened the link. \

_I__n our last issue we had an article claiming that MI6 used children as spys. MI6 were most cooperative and let us check their files. Apparently Alex Rider is the name of a boy whose father worked for MI6 and who died in a plane accident with his parents 13 years ago, which proves Tom Harris was lying. Mr. Harris forged a letter and lied to the press which is a crime but MI6 Intelligence Director Mr. Blunt has decided not to press charges. Instead Tom Harris will be brought to a SAS training center to learn discipline. However, during our search we discovered some illegal activity in the MI6. The MI6 will be under suspension for a month while we look further into their dealings. Also, Mr. Blunt and his right hand woman- Ms. Tulip Jones, will be questioned to give us a better look at what we're dealing with here._

She gasped, surprised. Looking down the page, she saw related articles in innocent blue letters. Hastily she clicked it. There was only one other report, from a week ago.

_MI6 accused of using children as spys!  
Tom Harris of London (exact location will not be specified) claims that his best friend a 14-year-old boy named Alex Rider, used to work for MI6 as a spy. He claims that Rider was blackmailed into the business when his father died leaving him under the guardianship of the MI6. He also claims that Rider has been on several missions of utmost importance and has saved uncountable lives. This boy (Alex) is apparently the boy who shot at the button the Prime Minister was about to push on the Stormbreaker that had been faulty and could apparently spead a fatal virus. "Stormbreaker was his first mission," Harris claims. We will be looking further into the possibility that MI6 has been out stepping legal bounds._

The web page had a picture of a letter in Alex's handwriting on the left-hand side of the page.

She sat frozen. Tom was in danger. Why was Alex so stupid as to send a letter to him? Chantelle couldn't imagine what MI6 would do to him. But she wasn't about to tell Al- no, Daniel. Saskatoon had become a home for the 'Etoiles'. She wouldn't ruin that. Besides, Daniel would be hunted the moment MI6 had a hint that he was alive. Hearing the door behind her being unlock, she hurriedly closed out the window and opened the newest form of Rosetta Stone: French Edition.

"I'm home!" Daniel called, dribbling his football into the front room. He stopped when he saw Chantelle. Her eyes were glazed over, there were tiny sweat beads on the side of her face, and her smile was obviously fake. At least she tries.  
"What is going on?" he asked, faking casual.

"Oh it's horrible! Tom's parents just got a divorce."

"Umm we already knew that was coming."

"Oh… I must have forgotten. Still, he is with his older brother so at least he is in good hands."

"That's good," Daniel said awkwardly. He wondered how his friend was doing. Daniel knew that he could not talk to his best friend because surely everything, down to his myspace, would be government tagged.  
"I'm going to make dinner," Chantelle said, breaking the uncomfortable silence. "How does quiche sound?"

a/n: So what do you think so far? Does it look good? Please review, especially any constructive criticism. Constructive Criticism not only makes me happy but it also will make this story better as I go on.


	2. Dramatics

**Suspended**

_**Chapter 2**_

* * *

a/n: As I'm sure you noticed, the first chapter was mainly a recap of the ending of 'A Chance at Redemption?' for all of you who had forgotten it. However, I also showed how they characters reacted to their situation so hopefully you won't hate me TOO much. ;) Enjoy the story!

Disclaimer: I am not Horowitz, though I am envious of his book rights and his amazing last name. (This also goes for the last chapter)

* * *

Tom sat stiffly at the table, his head down, waiting for his parents to finish reading the newspaper article. The Harris family never really watched the news or read the newspaper but Tom thought that his parents deserved a warning before the SAS arrived to steal him away.

"Is this your idea of an innocent prank? Or a way of saying that you want to be noticed by us?" was the first thing his mother said.

"I know your father and I have been going through some trouble, but we still care about you. There is no need for… Dramatics. You should have just told us how you felt."

Typical of his mother, thinking that Tom's mental 'issues' were all about her ongoing divorce. Which of course, had been the case, up until a few weeks ago when he had received that astonishing letter from his best friend. It still hurt, though. The time he needed his family the most, and they wouldn't help him because they thought he was 'crying wolf'. Unbelievable.

"This time I agree with your mother," Mr. Harris said. "You are acting like a spoiled dolt! How could you even believe that you could get away with this? I can't understand why you would want to hurt your mother and I like this."

A hurt Tom was just about to start his rebuttal when there was a firm knock on the front door. With a sigh, his father set down his tea as Mrs. Harris quickly went to the front door to let their 'guests' in. There, standing in a specially tailored grey suit, was a Mr. Wright of the MI6. He was a middle aged man, with dark brown hair and piercing grey eyes. In one hand was a simple briefcase. His other was busy shaking the hands of Mr. and Mrs. Harris.

"You know of the situation?" he asked in a calm but professional voice.

"We know most of it," Mr. Harris said. "Our son played a prank on the government and now he is going to be sent to--" he paused, not sure how to continue.

"Brecon Beacons," Mr. Wright supplied. "It is a private SAS training facility, the perfect place to teach this young man some discipline."

Mrs. Harris looked very worried. "Will he be safe there? Is this really necessary for something as small as this? He is in a critical year in school, what will he do when he returns? And speaking of that, how long will he be gone?"

Mr. Wright sighed, obviously annoyed. "He will be going to Beacons and they will send his school work by parcel. As for how long he stays there, well, that depends on how… cooperative he is."

Seeing the look on the faces of the Harris parents, he quickly continued. "I know you have many questions but I can't answer them. I was only charged with picking up Thomas. Any questions you have can be forwarded to this number," he said, flipping a business card at Mr. Harris.

"Now, Thomas, you have two minutes to pack. Don't take clothes or anything like that. Just take any medication you need and your favorite teddy bear." Mr Wright said emotionlessly as he stepped off the porch, returning to a waiting dull black car.

Tom ran to get his depression medication from under his bed. He had been depressed for a while now but it wasn't like he was going to tell Rider this. Not after all the poor guy had been through. No, Tom's problems were Tom's responsibility. Gloomily he quickly did a once over of the room. There was very little left, most of it having been moved to his mother's apartment just two days ago. However there was a cigar box from his grandfather full of old, rare coins hiding under one corner of a spread in his closet. It was better than nothing. Bracing himself, Tom pulled the box off the shelf and then left the room.

The Harris parents were still where he had left them. They were very tense and from the way they stood he had just interrupted another argument. Why couldn't they wait until he had left? At least he wouldn't have to deal with them anymore.

"You'll do fine," his father said gruffly, clapping him on the shoulder.

"Be safe and good. We want you back soon," Mrs. Harris said in a small, resigned voice.

Tom Harris, gave a quick hug to his parents then walked out of his home of 14 years. Cutching his meds and the cigar box,Tom slowly stumbled from his step over to Mr. Wright's car. Subdued, he opened the heavy door of the- frankly, he didn't know what the car was. Some sort of military design vehicle. Mr. Wright sat calmly inside, playing with the touch screen on his phone.

"Before I bring you to Brecon Beacons there is something I need to show you. Mi6 is on suspension, thanks to you, which means that the terrorists have a longer leash. We can't deal with that. The heads have a proposition for you but they want to make it in person."

Tom didn't even bother to reply. He wanted to clock the man. How could he not care that he was taking an innocent - surely he would know that, right? - child away from his home and to such a horrible lifestyle? He silently got into the car, sitting next to Mr. Wright. He was staring out the window when he suddenly noticed vision was getting darker, foggier. It wasn't outside- there was no way clouds could move that fast. Sitting up quickly, he saw that his window had a visibility control. Quickly he turned to his captor, who put his finger up to his lips in the international 'keep quiet' symbol.

Carefully he took out his gun from a concealed shoulder holster and waited. Outside they head tires screeching as a sports car pulled up alongside them. Gunshots were fired and all of a sudden Tom's car swerved and hit a tree. Looking up, he could see that the driver had been shot in the temple. Swallowing bile, Tom looked for an escape. He quickly opened the passenger door, ready to duck down and do some 'ninja tricks' to escape. Tom never had a chance. Waiting at the passenger door was a man with a wide grin and -- he didn't see anything else before he hit the ground, unconscious, taser barbs sticking out from his chest.

* * *

a/n: So what do you think? If you didn't know probably each chapter will switch between Alex, Tom, and maybe even some SAS/ MI6. I'm so happy to see that so many of you put this story on alert! Almost ten: yay. :D However, I only got one review which made me sad. Please start reviewing, also, even if it is only a word or two. It truly and honestly makes my day. J


	3. Time

A/N: So it's been two years since I wrote for this story. I can't promise that I will have constant updates, but I do want to get this story back on track. I hope you enjoy the update!

* * *

Mr. Blunt was seated in a moving box on the edge of Brentwood, Essex. Now, you're probably wondering what made the head of MI6 Special Operations decide to use a moving box. It was simple, really. MI6 was Mr. Blunt's life. He slept at work, ate at work, worked at work, and well... did all the usual necessities at well... the bank. Since the newspaper- _the newpaper of all people!_ had gotten a hold of some illegal documents, Mr. Blunt had no place to go. He had no place to eat. He had no place to sleep and to work and to take care of all the usual necessities. However, he was not the only one on the 'Block'. Ms. Tulip Jones and about nineteen other agents were out of a home, too. So they had decided to chip in their government salaries and well... live in crates for the month suspension. At least it was not overly expensive. The crates themselves were only twenty five pounds a month. _Is that not a good price by civilian standards?_ That, along with runs to the Joy Fook Chinese Restaurant (where most of their paycheck was currently going to springrolls and ironically vegetarian dishes), made life possible for the bored government agents. It was extremely lucky that they had all gone to training at one time or another, or there would have been man fights and a few casualties. As it was, only minor fights on missed memos and suspicious fortune cookies had broken out.

Tulip strode into Mr. Blunt's moving box, not bothering to avoid the food containers scattered all over the ground.

"They've got him."

Mr. Blunt turned and smiled. It usually took more ... persuasion... to make a child agree to the sort of jobs that were required.

"Alright. How far in his training is he?"

Ms. Tulip brushed sweat from her forehead. Mid September and the temperature had not dropped below eighty degrees yet. _Global warming must really be kicking in. _She tried again: "No, I mean _they've got him._ Not we. Not us. Not the government. _They_."

"Oh"

"Yes, oh! We barely had Harris for five minutes before they got him. Two of our agents killed, and a civilian with invaluable government information in his head kidnapped!"

"Oh."

"Now there is not much that we can do. Seeming as we are on a month's suspension, I cannot send in any MI6 agents, and since we have reason to suspect that K-Unit in SAS played an integral role in ferrying away Alex Rider, that agency is out of the question, too."

"How about calling in MI5?"

"We could try... I don't believe they're faring much better these days. I was rather considering... And please give me time to explain... I was considering Alex."

"_Alex? _He left us. He betrayed his country. We don't even know where the damned child is!"

"_Alex _knows Tom Harris. He cares for him, or he would not have even remembered his name. We need what help we can get right now. So if the actual government secret is protecting it's own existence, I believe it to be a good trade for a scandal that would blow all our hidden projects to the wind. Imagine British enemies seeing our battle strategies on the front page of The Guardian? What would our work have been for?"

Mr. Blunt grunted. Mr. Blunt fidgeted. Mr. Blunt was not the person who usually did either of these things, but he considered now a special occasion, as would warrent such inappropriate conduct.

"Fine. How do we find him?"

"We don't we let the newspapers have their way, and soon enough Alex will take the bait."

"We just admit that a brand new terrorist organization snatched a child from under our noses? That is... Nonpreferable..."

Tulip sighed. Mr. Blunt really had no imagination or strategy. Not that she did, either, but at least she knew their dictionary definitions.

"We tell them about a rebellious teenager who ran away from the government. We tell them that we are on the lookout for Tom Harris. Set a reward and such details. Alex will return to save Tom from us, and along the way he will have to discover Chromium."

"Fine. Make the call."

"Wait. What call? We aren't allowed to send any information, seeming as we're on suspension."

"Fine then send them a few from Joy Fook. Before you go, I would like to mention the unacceptable nature of your emotions in this conversation. It is extremely unbusinesslike."

"Well you are in a moving box right now. Talk to me when we leave Essex."

* * *

A/N: What do you guys think? I know, not very interesting. However I needed to build up the details for you. Please review! If you don't want this story, I won't write it. But if you're interested in it- add it to alerts, shoot me a message, something so I know to keep writing. Keep your spirit light! ~Lady Zarobiti~


	4. Drumroll

A/N: So it's been over a year since I updated and I am very sorry for that. I am sure that 99% of you never expected me to post again and have moved on or no longer visit this website. That makes sense. I can only hope that one or two people will see this and hopefully enjoy it. I must admit that the only reason I updated this story is because I am currently waiting on another author to update their fic, and I realized that I had inflicted frustration similar in nature on my own followers. This is my awkward way of saying 'sorry for the insane drag, I suck. If you want me to continue this story, let me know'. Thank you!

* * *

Alex Rider stared at his computer's browser window, poised to type, eyebrows furrowed. He checked the clock in the bottom right corner: 12:58 am. He had been in this position for over ten minutes as he contemplated the best way to either contact or gain information about Tom. Computer skills really weren't his forte. After all, hadn't Smithers always been there whenever he needed anything remotely tech related? Yes, of course, thanks to _government resources._ Something he didn't have.

_There are thinkers and then there are doers. Which are you? _Alex was most definitely a doer. Yes, he did come up with brilliant split-second decisions, but when it came to higher-level work, he found it much simpler to leave it to someone else.

_There must be some way. _Hacking was no good because Alex had no experience. Neither was typing 'friend of superspy tom harris + mi6 + life altering occasion + daily life' likely to turn up any results in a police database. _How…._ Of course MI6 would have a tracker on any searches including the worlds 'alex', 'rider', and 'teen espionage', so how was he supposed to get _any _information?

…Wait…

Wait a minute. Those keywords were about Alex and had nothing really to do with Tom himself. Tom Harris must be a common name- there's no way the government would be idiotic enough to track it.

Alex opened a basic search engine, not going for anything to special, not even a meta engine. Okay, so he knew a little about computers. He took a deep breath and typed in 'tom harris + england' and with a hurried movement clicked the button marked **search**. At first nothing happened, as his computer froze for a good thirty seconds. Damn Canada and their mountains! Their internet connection! Their snow! Their- the page loaded. He quickly scanned the page. _About 19,100,000 results.*News for Tom Harris. AP News. Tom Harris' Prank on MI6 Reveals Illicit Government Activity. BBC News. Harris to Serve Time at SAS Facility for Crime. The Guardian. Will MI6 Suspension Weaken Defenses?_

The list went on and on. Alex furtively scanned various news articles for almost two hours before he finally put his head down in exhaustion. This was too much. How could he help Tom? What could he do on the other side of the ocean, sitting helpless at his computer desk as his friend was dealing with true danger and hardship? _Why the hell did I send that letter? One knock on the head, well more than one, and I've suddenly lost my right to think straight? I knew the risks. Shit. _

Alex started mapping out all the possibilities. He thought and thought until he lost all concentration and was forced to accept the truth. As long as Tom was being kept in government hands, it would be almost impossible for Alex to help. Right now he needed to go to bed. In the morning he would try to contact someone from his past. He had tried to cut all ties, but he still had one or two American contacts, just for this sort of emergency. Yes. That is what he would do. Alex sighed and turned off his monitor, not noticing the news story that had just jumped to the top of his computer screen. _Telegraph & Argus. 2 Seconds ago. Government Misplaces Harris: Foul Play Suspected. _

Tom breathed in and out. In and out. He had finally regained consciousness and was afraid to open his eyes. He didn't want to know what terrible place he had been dragged to. Didn't want to deal with what was going on.

He felt- odd. That must have been from the taser. He tried to describe the feeling to himself, but couldn't hit the mark. The only thing it somewhat compared to was… exhaustion. It made sense, after the spasms his body must have endured as he was graciously knocked out. Exhaustion and the fact that his head felt like it was exploding. Migraine. Nothing like a severe pain in the front of your skull to prepare yourself for… it. The people who kidnapped him. The torture they would likely force on him. The surroundings.

The surroundings! _Concentrate. _Tom breathed in, gradually opening his senses. He paid attention to the hard stone under him. It was perfectly smooth- not natural. The rope bonds on his hands, not too tight but definitely present. _Alright._ He opened up his hearing, paying attention to the sh-uh-sh-uh-sh-uh sound above him. Probably some sort of torture device that they were preparing to use on him. He inhaled and smelled the sharp smell of too-strong air freshener. He concentrated as hard as he could, but he would be getting no more information until he opened his eyes. _Do it._

With a final calming breath Tom opened his eyes to see- A smooth albeit scuffed wooden floor. He quickly scouted for exits, but there were no windows. The only way out of the room was from a door set into the wall to his left. The sound from earlier had originated from a plain beige ceiling fan. The air freshener was probably covering the stench from the stained and faded teal sofa at the corner of the room. He surveyed the area again. Floor, fan, sofa, locked door, graffiti_. _It was many words, spray painted onto the wall right in front of Tom. There was C-OR, C-OH, C=O, C-NH2, and plenty more. They surrounded the only word Tom could actually understand. _Chromium._

* * *

A/N: What did you think? Worth continuing? Let me know. The words on the wall? Give me your best guesses. Love you all!

~Lady Zarobiti

*This statistic was actually the google hits for a search on a recent American murder case, because its very big in their news. I figured it would be somewhat representative of the hits on a MI6 story trending in the British press.


End file.
